


Concussion

by FrangipaniFlower



Category: Homeland
Genre: Anger, F/M, Falling in love - or maybe not?, First Kiss, First Sex, Happy Birthday Karin, Honey Trap, Jealousy, season 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2018-06-06 14:03:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6757114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrangipaniFlower/pseuds/FrangipaniFlower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carrie and Quinn have an angry and violent fight after Quinn stopped Carrie from killing Saul - and then they kiss. Quinn storms out of the embassy to save Saul, and Carrie has some ideas of her own to save her mentor - and these involve paying a nightly visit to Khan. She can’t know Quinn‘s out there watching her and Khan. Quinn himself planned to blackmail Khan with, ehm, evidence about a rather delicate matter and isn’t a fan of what he has to witness now...</p><p>Oh - and then there is that minor problem with the embassy breach.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Finally - about 18 months after a once oneshot - there is chapter 2 now.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Nature_of_Daylight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Nature_of_Daylight/gifts).



> The character Fred was borrowed from Laure001's fics with her knowledge and permission.

"Raging crazy bitch" Fred spat into the shocked silence of the ops room after Carrie had stormed out. He was about to say more but swallowed it when meeting Quinn's glacier stare.

"We still have to finish this. And, Carrie Mathison is your superior, station chief, how dare you to question her..."

"Says the man who physically questioned the said station chief's decision in regard to one of the most wanted terrorists. But I bet, physically works deliciously well between the two of you, Chief of Support, doesn't it?"

Quinn knew better than to go for the dumbass' throat right here, what he had allowed to happen was actually the biggest professional misjudgement he had ever allowed himself. And of course his actions of the past minutes had equally shocked or amused the colleagues. Probably half, what the fuck, the whole ops room was thinking now, he was fucking Carrie Mathison.

And, cooling down a bit now, professionally she had been right. There was no way to get Saul free without paying hell for it. Haqqani had been there, on a fucking silver tray, taking him out by drone, not even risking another fucking american soul's life, only Saul's, who wouldn't wanna live with that burden anyway. And if he'd been alone in the ops room, or out their in a sniper's nest, he'd given the command, pulled the trigger, whatever. Not for the first time he thought how much he prefered war with man to man action over this, like a computer game. When you're out there, you aim, you wait for a clear field, you shoot when the risk of collateral damage is minimized, two steps to the left and he'd been able to kill Haqqani but not Saul, you see your target falling, it's honest killing, and not this bullshit.

So, why had he physically ruled over her order, undermined her authority with the whole fucking team, made a lovesick moron out if himself?

Because he didn't want her to live with what the consequences would have been.

Haqqani was gone in the wind, they didn't even know in which car he was, a fucking charade under tree branches had mislead them and they had only one drone, what the fuck, he just wished to be out there with an honest weapon and take care of it himself.

He managed to leave the room at a restrained pace but then stormed down the hallway to the next best empty office, banging his fist against the wall. Three times.

He was angry beyond words, wise enough not to channel his anger on Haqqani and his gang, that was obvious, but with Saul, the man had been the goddamn director of the fucking flying circus and allowed himself to be caught by terrorists, in a fucking civilian airport, while waiting for a fucking commercial flight. And with himself, for allowing his fucking feelings for Carrie clouding his professional views, leading him to misjudgement, while the whole station had front row seats. 

And with Carrie. 

Fucking a child to make him lay out the trail to Haqqani and then...yeah, well, and then...she had been willing to sacrifice Saul and she had been right, he had been the one getting soft. No reason to be angry with Carrie. Professionally, she had been right, every cell of his trained brain knew that. It was just him, he wanted a softer Carrie, a Carrie who cared for people around her, for those few she loved. He briefly thought what she might have done if it had been him...fuck, what was wrong with him? 

He took a deep breath. And then he heard it. Someone was tearing down the office next door. The dump sounds indicated some heavier items flying around.

Fuck, if he was angry, how must she feel? He knew he had it coming so why not now, right away. A yelling match, act two of the Islamabad shakesperean drama, with a dose of Freud in it, to entertain Fred and the gang.

He went back on the corridor, Christ, she hadn't even closed the window blinds. Her office was a mess and she was pacing like a caged animal.

He entered silently, swiftly letting the window blinds rattling down and closing the door. Maybe he should knock her out and carry her to her room as long as everybody else was still in the ops room. Manic Carrie wasn't a pretty sight, and sure as fuck, she wouldn't wanna be seen like this by the bunch of gossip hunters down the hallway.

The sound of the blinds had made her turn around. She went for his face right away. He had to give her he hadn't see that coming, he had prepared to be yelled at, not to be slapped, hard, twice actually, and then scratched. And then the yelling started, just an inch away from him.

"How dare you, how the fuck dare you?! I already let go more with you than I'd have with anyone else, but this was a fucking line, Quinn."

Well, he felt like yelling too. It was time for truth telling, because he was just fucking done with deluding himself about fighting a war worth to be fought.

"A fucking line...are you kidding me?"

"You nearly blew my cover when recruiting Aayan, and for that, I should've sent you home, but I didn't, because-"

"Because? Because of what, Carrie? Seriously, cause I can't remember begging to be allowed to be here. I came because you said you needed me. Send me home, go for it. Maybe I gave you enough reason to be so full of yourself, but just for the record: You may be my boss but you do not own me."

"Well, if you don't wanna be here, feel free, just leave, I'll sign the papers tonight...was wondering anyway why you stick around...after opposing every single decision I took."

He mustered the most derisive look and a matching scornful smirk.

"Go for it. I'm going to leave anyway. If you need that for your fucking ego, boss, go for it."

"You had no fucking right to overrule me. I was right. It was the right call. We had Haqqani right in front of us and-"

"Carrie, what the fuck, don't you get it? He was NOT right in front of us, we were hundreds of miles away. He was in front of that fucking drone, and used Saul as HUMAN shield. And it's your drone strikes which brought us to this point."

"Yeah, of course, all my fault. I don't own you but now it was me who hauled your pathetic ass over here. Man up, Quinn, this is a war."

It was ridiculous as fuck and he was this short to beat some sense into her.

"You don't get it, do you?"

"What, Quinn, what? I get that we as handlers acting for the US-government never should allow to be blackmailed just like now, and YOU were the one forcing us into that clusterfuck. Two human lifes as collateral damage for the chance to take Haqqani out - that should have been a fucking clear call."

"Do you ever listen to yourself?"

He was closing the last few inches distance between them by leaning in, nose to nose, and he had to give her that she didn't retreat for a single millimeter.

Of all things Carrie could be accused of, she was certainly not a coward. And stubborn as hell.

"Collateral damage. COLLATERAL DAMAGE. We are talking about the boy you fucked and the man you love like a father."

At least that made her back away. She turned around, took two steps into the room, then turned around again, aiming for the door, trying to quickly manoever past him, Christ, she was as quick as mercury.

But he was much quicker. And if this was the epic confrontation they were meant to have at some point - so fucking be it.

He grabbed her arms and pushed her backwards, back of her tighs already at her desk. Then he leaned in again and he saw her getting concerned, not frightened, no, but at least kind of nervous.

"You know what Carrie? I am so fucking done with this crap. You are right, about everything you say. It was the right call. But is this the world you wanna live in? Raise your daughter in? Saul is not dying on my watch cause YOU wouldn't survive that. And I'm not doing this to you nor do I allow yourself to do it."

He forced her bending backwards by leaning in, hands still around her upper arms. She'd be bruised by tonight. And he knew it. And didn't care.

"I'll go out now and make things right, with an honest weapon. I'll get Haqqani and I'll try to get Saul back."

"This is bullshit, alpha-male bullshit, and you know it."

"You asked why I'm not leaving. You. To protect you. From yourself."

His right hand went around her throat and he forced her down to the desk, bending over. She was helpless, he was too close to give her any room at all to manoever or move but Carrie being Carrie ran never out of ideas. 

She might loose a battle but not a war. And so she spit in his face. He had held back long but now he snapped and slapped her on her cheek. Not full force but enough to make her wail.

Oh, fuck it, beating a woman.

"You don't bullshit with me, Carrie. I'd go a great length for you but enough is enough."

He crashed with his bulk on her small frame and kissed her, hard, deep and hot, deliberatly letting go of her arms to allow her to defend herself, expecting to get bitten, scratched or worse.

But she kissed him back, fervently, hot as fuck, hands right away going to untuck his shirt. 

He gave in, for a few seconds he gave in, pushing his tongue into her sweet mouth, exploring, consuming her.

But then he straightened, broke contact, rearranged his shirt.

She was a hot mess on her desk, but her eyes were sending sparks. He was lucky she had no weapon.

He leant in again, back to iceman.

"We'll take care of this when I'm back."

"If you come back."

"No, Carrie, when, not if, when. And god help me, not to-"

"I'll fuck you senseless." She even smiled, sweetly, for fuck's sake.

"Cause I can't loose you, Quinn. Not you."

And she had done it again. Left him speechless. She might loose a battle but never a war.

And he stormed out, off to his self-chosen quest.

\-------------------

Fred couldn't believe it. Finally someone had told that blond mess of station chief who's wearing the pants. Well, kind of, at least.

He considered himself as absolutely straight but his first and only male crush as teenager had been James Read as George Hazard in North and South, commanding his troops. But, Peter Quinn's battlefield-trained commander tone, yelling at Carrie Mathison, that was something...probably he'd spank her later in his quarters...Christ...that man clearly was...

Sadly, over his musings while eavesdropping (you can't call it really eavesdropping though, Peter Quinn's voice was loud and Carrie Mathison did her best to be a match), he'd let his guard down a bit and missed the door being slammed open. 

Unfortunately he got smashed between the door and the wall, Peter Quinn was not only loud when angry but really forceful when pushing a door open with his bulk in rage, and the concussion that caused right in the aftermath sadly made him forget all those juicy delicious details he had just learnt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while, I know. But lovely Karin gave me a prompt and I felt this was the moment to come back here.

Quinn stormed out of the embassy with long steps, not bothering to sneak through the secret tunnel but through the main gate, making sure his exit was documented, processed and recorded.

His plan would require patience and a calm mind - and he lacked both of it right now.

But what he could do now is plant some false traces. Drive here and there, visit some random places, buy random items, leaving the city in southern direction, making his ISI shadows believe he was checking out access in and out of Rawalpindi. 

It was a badly kept secret that Haqqani still had his family residing here, his first and second wife and four or five children.

Sandy did once tell him that there were rumors of Haqqani having a high ranked CIA contact, feeding him with intel, just enough to always slip away.

Quinn believed it right away. This world was too fucked up to not believe it.

He drove through the narrow streets for two hours, made the effort to get out of the car and walk through shady alleys three times, and then he finally returned to Islamabad. 

He didn’t allow himself to think about Carrie. Because if he did - Christ, she is fucking impossible. Stubborn, mind-fucking ignorant - and yet he wanted her. With every cell of his being, she was on his mind when he tossed and turned and tried to get some sleep, she was fucking with his brain when he woke up, making his sleep- and alcohol-hazed self hallucinate her presence, yes, in his fucking bed. And she was there when he dreamt - and, _just fuck you, Carrie_.

He switched cars in a small workshop in Burmatown, Faisal owed him a favour, and he always paid his assets generously, with money and with keeping his promises should they ever need another favour in return.

The Suzuki Khyber was at least twenty years old, dusty and just what he needed to disappear in the crowd. The license plate was registered to a dentist in Lahore, and the said dentist happened to be out of town just this week.

_What a coincidence._

And now it was time to start to work on a plan. First stop was one of his own _storage rooms_ , getting some equipment.

Second stop was the small old part of the city, a colonial mansion close to Shakar Parian Park was his destination.

Aasar Khan knew more, that Quinn was sure of. And he would cooperate. Given the alternative which was his superior learning first thing tomorrow morning about Khan‘s unfortunate excitement for a certain British man he meets twice each year when travelling to Europe. They‘d been discreet. But not discreet enough. Sandy Bachmann knew for years, but there was never a situation grave enough to use that knowledge.

Although the cover - both of them Oxonians, founders of the famous university‘s first multinational Alumni network - worked well for many years prior.

Khan wasn’t gay, but there was enough evidence of him enjoying playing for both teams.

But a long term, unreported same sex relationship wouldn’t sit well with Khan‘s superiors, and hence, Quinn was sure the man would cooperate. He wouldn’t ask for much, a location and a contact in the area, plus support for extraction. Khan would keep face, no damage for ISI, and Quinn wouldn’t plan to tell him about his plans for Haqqani. All Khan would know is that he plans to free Saul. But this was just Plan B. Plan A was getting the intel without having to reveal his identity and blackmail Khan.

He entered the compound through the park, after disconnecting the movement sensors and cameras. It took him a while to make his way through the lush garden, and a while longer to place small wireless audio transmitters onto the large windows.

But then he retreated to a generously dimensioned garden house, clearly designed for entertaining purposes during the rainy season. 

He unpacked his night vision binoculars, and leaned back. He‘d wait for Khan to show up, maybe he’d be lucky and a phone call from Khan with that pure evil Tasneem Qureshi would tell him all he’d need to know, and Khan would never know he’d been here.

It was nearly midnight, and Khan did him the favor of showing up soon after he‘d arrived, still in his neat khaki uniform, hair parted, collar starched.

He had two glasses in his hands and he wasn’t alone.

 _Fuck my life_.

———————

Carrie lay on the table, breathing heavily, a minute, and another minute, still feeling Quinn‘s violent kiss on her lips.

He was gone, trying to save Saul, probably trying to take Haqqani out.

She heard some voices in the hallway, someone talking about the hospital wing.

She couldn’t stay here. People could come in any time.

So she sat up, straightened her clothes and waited for the voices outside to disappear before she sneaked out the door and rushed to the elevator connecting the station with the living quarters.

Once she arrived there she opened the safe box Quinn had installed for her, by her request. Not the standard safe in its standard position, but a much smaller one, hidden behind the drywall in a corner of her walk in closet. She kept money there, enough for an emergency extraction, some spare passports for her closest team members and herself, two unregistered weapons, and the equivalent of a monthly dose of her meds. And an untouched container of Zyprexa, high dosage, the fastest working mood stabilizer, it can take off the edge of a beginning mania in less than an hour.

She often wished she could take it constantly but the long term use side effects were too severe. But she knew it would help her through these kind of days.

Quinn insisted installing the safe box himself when she asked him to take care of it, saying he didn’t want anyone else to know about its existence.

She was sure someone was fucking with her meds. She started feeling bad about a week ago. It took her a few days to make the connection, but two days ago she started taking the pills from her secret stash in her wardrobe and it’s getting better. She keeps the other meds in her bathroom, flushing the daily dose down the toilet every morning, hoping whoever did that might show himself one day - or herself.

But now she needed 15 milligrams Zyprexa.

It wasn’t too bad yet. But she knew she was starting to lose herself. Or maybe already lost herself a while ago but knew it’s time to fight her way back now.

 _Quinn_.

She was still angry - and worried.

She knew she wouldn’t find him, so there’s no sense to even start looking.

But there was something else she could do. Someone else she could turn to, trying to get some _support_.

She chose a blue dress, fitted but not clingy. Silk. Thigh-highs. Lacy underwear. She didn’t plan to grant him those final steps but in case it needed to happen - well, it couldn’t be worse than Aayan.

_Aasar Khan is a gorgeous man._

Thinking about Aayan wasn’t an option now - too raw.

But if she was honest, what just happened between her and Quinn, this was what she was craving for right now. Not Khan’s long thoughtful stares. She wanted Quinn to take her on that conference table, to pull their pants down just enough, and to fuck each other senseless then and there, a few minutes violent pleasure against the mind-consuming madness around them.

There was still some time, she planned to surprise Khan late, when he was back from one of his usual evening functions, and the Zyprexa made her dizzy anyway , now as the drug hit her system, so she had an hour or so left.

She remembered Quinn‘s anger, the dark sparks in his eyes when he stared down at her and bent her over the desk. She‘d felt his bulge against her leg when he‘d kissed her, and now she allowed her mind to extend that kiss, to explore what would happen next, how his hands would come up and knead her breasts and how his breathing would get faster, her hands finding their way in his pants, telling him not to stop, oh no, quite the opposite.

Still only in her underwear, she let her right hand wander over soft skin, and slip beneath the lacy fabric of her slip, finding her centre, grating over her clit, imagining Quinn doing this, and then she allowed her favorite fantasy to unfold, dipping two fingers into her passage, slow and careful first, building up the desire, the tips of her fingers slightly wet now, pushing deeper and finding the right pace. She imagined Quinn fucking her hard and fast, her other hand playing with her nipple, Quinn‘s mouth sucking her nipple, grating teeth, moaning her name, her hands on his ass, pushing him deeper, feeling smooth skin, firm muscles working, Quinn making her raise her legs, bending her knees, his pace relentless, she was nearly there, withdrew her fingers, wet and smooth now, and when she started rubbing her clit she knew she‘d reached the point of no return, imagining Quinn groaning and kissing her, and when she came she pushed the two finger into her passage again, thinking that feeling her contractions would make him lose himself too, and that she‘d love to see Quinn unraveling, driving into her with a groan, and then collapsing on top of her.

Afterwards she cried. She was still curled up on her bed, when her phone rang, Maggie. She‘d missed last night‘s FaceTime with Franny and Maggie. Just another fuck up on her long list.

Carrie dried her face and then called her sister back, making sure the camera only caught her face and not her naked torso.

Maggie’s face showed disapproval of _everything_ and when Carrie tried to mention that she‘d had a _really_ tough day, she answered with a sharp _“yeah, tell me about it, Ruby‘s down with a tummy bug, I had to reschedule two surgeries and the nanny won’t come back until we‘re through diarrhea“_.

Carrie knew she should worry about Franny and show sympathy but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.

She ended the call and saw a message had come in - a notification that one of her staff members was hospitalized with concussion and that he couldn’t provide a coherent story how he‘d gotten it. Fred McLoughlin. She had a vague memory of a small man with an ordinary face and dark blonde hair, in a way a perfect spy, nobody would remember him.

Hensleigh had brought him, saying he‘d found him in hallway A, where her office was. 

She‘d have Max look into the log of Fred‘s key card, track his movements on the campus over the last few days.

———————

Carrie left the embassy through the secret tunnel, using one of the unregistered taxis to drive to the British Club, expecting to find Khan there, attending the annual ball of the British Foreign Trade association. He never had more than two drinks, and never left functions before the official program was over. He usually stayed the polite thirty minutes extra and then left. 

So she was Annabel Martin, representative of the Bank of Scotland, entering the club‘s bar just when the final speaker finished and the crowd poured into the room.

She took a glass of a fruit juice cocktail - sans alcohol of course - and sipped on it while waiting for Aasar Khan to cross the room and leave through the back corridor.

And when she saw him exchanging goodbyes with the host she left and waited for him near the door, pleased when she saw the corners of his mouth curling upwards when he saw her.

„Annabel Martin, I assume,“ he gave her brief nod and offered her his arm, leaving the room with her after Carrie had looped her arm through his.

„So your agents made me.“

„No. I was expecting a visit. Not necessarily from you though. So I asked to text me any very late arrival, or any person not on the guest list.“

„I see.“

„I assume, I may offer you a lift back to town?“

„It’s my night off, so-,“ Carrie paused for a beat, allowing Khan to interrupt her, pleased when he did.

„Your night off. Because your presence isn’t required at the embassy because you certainly do not have a current crisis. I see. What would a city like Islamabad have to offer at this time of the day?“

„I don’t know. I was hoping for you to give me some,“ Carrie paused and then decided to place the bait, „advice.“

Two minutes later, she and Khan sat in the backseats of his limousine, Khan‘s hand casually finding its way to rest on her knee after he‘d offered her a gin and tonic.

 _Make it just a gin, triple_ , Carrie thought, accepting her drink with a cheerful smile, brushing her hand over Khan‘s.

They had their drinks in silence, Khan had years of experience in that game of international politics himself and he would wait for her to come out first, Carrie knew that, and she didn’t want to play her cards before she was sure he‘d take her to his residence.

Her move was a Hail Mary, and she knew he knew it too when he kissed her cheek right before he told the driver to bring them home.

But she‘d made her decision and here she was.

————

Quinn saw Carrie entering the room with Khan, she was wearing a blue dress, floating hair, seductive smile - and yet it felt like watching a Carrie-doll.

He knew she was on a seduction agenda the second she entered the room - _what else would she do in Khan‘s private residence at midnight?_

He knew she did it to learn about Saul‘s whereabouts. 

_Classic Carrie - contradictory, stubborn, dumb and self-sacrificing. Twice in one week. Fuck Carrie. Just fuck._

Quinn listened to their small talk, watched Khan putting his uniform jacket away, opening his tie, offering Carrie another drink, asking her to dance. Saw him holding Carrie. Felt anger. And lust. Remembered their kiss, just hours ago. 

But this was about Saul. 

Khan kissed Carrie after the first song. She granted him a long moment before she pulled back, smiling seductively, and asked for another drink. 

When Khan handed her the glass, she walked over to the couch and Quinn knew she‘d start her _quid pro quo_ now.

_How far will you go Carrie? Just how fucking far?_

He watched her slipping out of her heels. She commented that her feet hurt and of course Khan picked up her naked foot and started massaging it with his thumb, the other hand around her ankle.

His phone vibrated, only Max, Fara and Carrie had that number.

Max.

_We have a breach. Fred McLoughlin. Maybe more. He‘s been to Carrie‘s apartment twice. Two unauthorized entrances to the vault room as well. I can’t reach Carrie._

_No, you can’t because she is busy fucking Khan. Or wil bel. In a minute._

Quinn didn’t type that. Just a brief _Don’t do anything until I‘m there. 20 minutes._

There was no way to stop Carrie’s _operation_ without risking an even bigger clusterfuck so Quinn left the garden through the park, carefully reconnecting the wires of the security system before he crossed the park to get back to the international enclave, the car would have to wait til tomorrow.

_________________

Khan massaged her feet, seemingly enjoying the intimacy of that gesture, his hand slowly extending the range of his movements up to her ankles, and then her calves, and by the time he reached her knees and slowly pushed the hem of her dress upwards Carrie had decided that she‘d ask him for what she needed to know before he was going to get what he wanted.

Khan‘s finger tips reached the lacy holders of her stockings, grating over naked skin, and Carrie knew her strategy hadn’t failed her. Like many for other men before, this was the ultimative turn on for Khan as well.

Time to up her game.

So she leant upwards and kissed Khan‘s cheek, then the corner of his mouth, his hands progressing even further, she noticed his breathing getting faster, and casually dropped a hand in his lap, palm down, just enough pressure, biting back the wave of nausea rising in her chest.

—————————

Quinn sat in the dark of Carrie‘s apartment, his mind racing. He‘d tried to call Carrie, four times, but of course she hadn’t answered her phone. 

He hadn’t informed the ambassador yet about the breach, because a plan was beginning to take shape at the back of his head.

He‘d given orders to remove the most important files - the ones containing all information about their assets - from the embassy, John Redmond had left the embassy ten minutes ago with a destination unknown to Quinn and anybody else.

He couldn’t give orders to close the tunnel, not before Carrie was back. He‘d checked the embassy‘s security log, she hadn’t left the compound using the main gate, so officially she was still inside the compound. Executing the security protocols, informing the ambassador and Langley, doubling the amount of armed guards, sending the lower ranks stateside - he couldn’t do any of this without exposing Carrie’s absence.

And the longer he sat in the dark, waiting for her, the clearer he could grasp the plan which was starting to form at the back of his mind. They wouldn’t announce a state of emergency. They wouldn’t send staff home. As long as that batshit called Fred was hospitalized his handler couldn’t contact him. Nothing would be set in motion as long as Fred was still concussed. And there were ways to extend his illness. Quinn remembered the strange concentration of gastric diseases among embassy staff in Venezuela once. It had almost caused an international crisis as the media had caught wind and reported it as perfidious attack - of course nobody could tell them that it had been a red herring to cover up one of the biggest operations the CIA had ever performed in Venezuela.

_Well, Fred, I guess, it’s gonna be your turn now. You‘ll be down with nausea for a few more days. Diarrhea too, not so sorry, asshole._

He typed a few keys on his phone, telling Fara what he needed her to do.

As long as there weren’t more traitors, that would give them a week, ten days max.

And now it all depended on Carrie. Would she know where Saul was? Had she gotten more intel? Had Khan - he didn’t want to go there and yet he did. 

He recalled their kiss, how she’d tasted, what she’d said, and a mere three hours later Khan‘s hand on Carrie’s feet. He could imagine his fingers trailing upwards, could almost feel her skin beneath his own fingers right now, she did that to him, that hot raging anger and yet - Carrie - God, he had to stop that.

——————————

Carrie stepped inside her apartment and leant against the wall as soon as she’d closed the door. She still felt sick. It had been close. And she knew she should have gone through with it. Because what else could she do. Saul was alive, out there. She‘d failed him. Again. 

And she couldn’t even think about the next day, which would bring another encounter with Khan around a conference table, just that this time - God.

But when he‘d asked her to - it was like something in her had snapped and opened her eyes, and all she had been able to think was „No“.

She stepped into her wardrobe, didn’t switch the lights on, and reached back to open the zipper of her dress when she felt something move behind her. A hand on her shoulder.

He had her before she could make a move. Panic paralyzing her. One hand clasped over her mouth, the other holding her in a tight grip.

„Don’t you dare,“ a well-known voice, low and dangerously calm, „enough bullshit for one day.“

 _Quinn_. 

Relief flooding her system, Carrie slowly exhaled, her heart still beating at a rapid clip, he could feel it under his arm. That - and a firm small bud pressing against his forearm. 

_Damn it, Carrie._

He knew he‘d lost when he didn’t release her right away. That was Carrie’s game, she sensed every nanosecond of hesitation. His arm was still firmly wound her her torso, restraining her arms at the sides of her body, and he stood so close that she couldn’t turn and had no range for a backwards kick.

His hand was still covering her mouth, and so there was silence, their breathing the only sounds when she slowly pressed her ass and back against the bulk of his body, feeling for real what she’d sensed before against her taut buttocks.

 _I‘ll fuck you senseless._ Her words, earlier that day.

It was not that he hadn’t been warned. Neither did he want to be anywhere else now.

_Night of truth telling. You want her. So deal with it._

He finally loosened his grip around her, but didn’t release her fully, his hand finding its way to her breast on its own will. He cupped the perfect roundness, and for a moment they stood completely still, before he started kneading it, and then the other one with his second hand, Carrie‘s ass pressed against his crotch.

She started gasping right away, her head leaning against his collarbone now, he felt the cool and silky fabrics beneath his fingers, and she rocked her hips for some welcome friction. 

Gathering the fabric of her dress with one hand he pulled her skirt upwards, giving his other hand access to travel south.

„So this is what you want?“, his voice was hoarse, a charged whisper against her temple, „Cause I want you badly. But as I said, don’t you dare to try to jerk me around. I won’t take that. Not from anybody. The very least from you.“

His finger were tracing the edges of her underwear now, lace, delicate naked skin, the holder of her stockings, and he could feel Carrie adjusting her stance in anticipation for what was to come, her arm looped around his neck now, her hips rocking against him.

He let his fingers graze over the thin layer of lace, feeling her heat beneath it, and enjoyed making her breathe a brief moan.

„So, that‘s what you want? First Khan and now me?“ - and a brief touch of his fingers, slipping beneath the fabric, dipping into her soft curls, Carrie jolting in his arm.

„I‘ll give you what you want. But I won’t do that to myself Carrie. I‘ll be gone tomorrow, and this time I won’t come back.“

And with that he started to move two long fingers with strong circular movements, one left of her hood, one on its right side, and the urgency with which Carrie pushed back against him told him he was doing the right thing.

Lithe like quicksilver she pivoted out of his arm when he was about to speed up his movements, she was facing him now, deft fingers quickly opening her own dress and then his slacks, and when she slid the dress from her shoulders his breathing hitched.

„You like that Quinn, right? Being the oh so moral center. Having the upper hand,“ her hand came around his cock, soft strokes while she looked straight into his eyes, „Judging me. But I‘m just like you. We both give whatever we have to secure our mission.“

She kept stroking and squeezing him, leant up and kissed him open-mouthed, and then went on, her voice quivering now.

„So you go to places where you don’t want to be and I go to other _places_ where I don’t want to be - who are you to fucking judge me?“

And with that she stepped back, lowered her thong, and a second later he lifted her up, pressed her against the wall, her legs around his waist, his prick driving into her, Carrie crying out his name when he started to fuck her in earnest, her hands clinging to his shoulders, her mouth seeking his for an urgent kiss.

„I won’t share you“, he breathed when they broke the kiss, feeling his orgasm curling up at the base of his spine, „not like this.“

„You can‘t own me,“ Carrie whispered against his lips, „that’s part of the package, I guess.“

„Yes. But right now,“ he paused for a beat and brought one hand between them, „I will own you. Cause you want that. Or tell me you don’t want that?“

His strokes were slower now, more irregular, holding back was a strenuous effort but when his finger found her centre, just a tantalizing slow brush across her clit, Carrie let out one of these whimpers he could never forget. 

„Don’t stop Quinn. Please don’t stop.“

„Tell me what you want, Carrie. Cause I know what I want.“

She looked into his eyes and for a second he believed her when she breathed _you_ and threw her head back in abandon, his fingers working her centre while he pushed into her with fast and hard strokes now again.

She came with a soft scream, he felt her clenching around him, and then he was there too, spilling himself into her, his mouth tasting the salty sheen of sweat on her shoulder.

Feeling his knees buckling, he took her down with him in a controlled collapse to the floor, holding her in a tight embrace, his cock still twitching inside her before he slipped out.

Neither did they speak nor did they move, their breathing calming down, her head still against his shoulder, her body molding into his, his arms around her.

They both knew that these were stolen moments, not meant to last. He felt a warm wetness on his shoulder, her small body was slightly trembling, and he wished he could do more to comfort her. 

 

Finally she detached and got up, her warm body moving away from him, and a moment later she switched on the light in her bedroom, casting a warm glow through the door into the wardrobe where Quinn still sat on the floor. 

He heard Carrie‘s steps crossing the room to the bathroom and got up with a sigh, fishing for his boxers and pants. He was about to close his belt when his eyes fell on the joint of the plasterboard he himself had set up as drywall to hide the new safebox.

„Carrie?“

She appeared in the door jamb, wearing leggings and a shirt now, her expression confused.

_That makes two of us._

„You aware someone cut that open?“

„That was me.“

„You?“, but of course he was relieved, „why?“

„I needed my meds. Someone’s been fucking with my meds, either replaced them or added stuff and I switched to the ones from the secret stash.“

Quinn didn’t know what to say. How to deal with the massive wave of anger he felt. That - and a strange disappointment.

„Since when?“

„I noticed it three days ago.“

„And when were you going to fucking tell me, Carrie? What the fuck? We have a breach. And you don’t tell me that someone’s been to your quarters to fuck with your meds.“

Carrie saw his jaw clenching, his hands closing into fists left and right of his thighs before he opened them again and stretched his fingers. When she looked back to his face he turned away, making it impossible for her to see his eyes.

But seeing his profile was enough to see him pursing his lips, then he swallowed, and looked back at her and it was as if the last half hour had never existed.

„What did you get from Khan?“

„Nothing. He said he doesn’t have any intel.“

_So he got a gratuitous fuck._

„You believe him?“

„No.“

„Couldn’t press harder? Metaphorically speaking, of course.“

„Quinn. I-,“ Carrie started but he interrupted her.

„Don’t Carrie. I was there.“

„Quinn. What the fuck?,“ Carrie was flabbergasted but he knew her anger would kick in any second - and he was right. „How fucking dare you?“

„C‘mon Carrie, you can’t expect you can make a move like that and _not_ be watched.“

„Well, then you probably didn’t stay long enough to hear the end of Khan‘s and my _negotiations_.“

„Not necessary. I doubt he sounds so much different than every other guy when he is granted his few fucking seconds in paradise.“

He could see her eyes widening at his cruel remark and for a moment he felt like the shitbag he probably was, and then she looked away.

„Anyway. He didn’t give me any intel. And then I - had to leave.“

There was a quiver in her voice which crawled under his skin but this was not the moment to investigate that any further.

„Carrie. This is what we‘re gonna do. I‘ll go after Saul. I have an idea. Vague but it’s a point to start. There’s an envelope on your kitchen counter. Place the photos in your folder tomorrow, make sure you sit next to Khan. Make Lockhart sit with Tasneem, as far away as possible. Show Khan the photos. In the middle of the negotiations. He will cooperate.“

Carrie stepped over to the small kitchenette and opened the envelope, her face not giving away anything.

When she finally addressed him again, her face was pale and her voice trembling.

„Why don’t I know that?“

„I didn’t think, it would be necessary.“

„I‘m station chief, Quinn. Your superior. How the fuck dare you to keep these under the wraps?“

„Today was the situation to use them. Just when I arrived at Khan‘s residence he was busy with foreplay.“

„That’s _not_ the fucking point, Quinn.“

There was a moment of silence between them, and then he turned towards the door.

„Close that fucking tunnel. Make sure McLoughlin doesn’t leave the hospital wing and don’t give him communication privileges. No emergency protocol. But inform Martha and Lockhart.“

„Quinn.“

She was faster than he’d expected, and she reached the door before her was there, blocking the exit with her back leant against the door.

„Where are you going?“

„Helping Saul.“

„That was not my question.“

„North,“ he sighed and tried to open the door.

„Tribe‘s land.“

„I fucking know.“

„Quinn, you-,“ she paused and then tried again, her eyes searching his now, „Stay safe. Come back. I - need you - here.“

Her eyes were rimmed with tears and he knew it was probably the disbalance in her meds over the last couple of days - and yet he felt an unexpected surge of warmth beneath his rage.

Carrie saw a moment of unveiled rawness in his eyes, she knew that feeling, and she remembered those few moments they‘d sat on the floor after they‘d fucked. And before she could stop herself from doing it, she went up on her toes and placed a soft kiss on Quinn‘s cheek, stepping aside and giving him access to the door then.

_Fuck._

————————

It was almost three a.m. when Fred woke up in his hospital station bed, still having a major headache splitting his brain in two halves.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the black shadow leaning over him.

„Drink that.“

„Peter. My God.“

„Peter‘s enough. Drink.“

„Why would I?“

„Because otherwise I might feel tempted to break your neck.“  
.  
„So you still didn’t get laid or what?“

Quinn reached forward and placed his thumb on a trigger point at the man’s temple, pressing hard, two seconds, enough to make Fred whine.

„Drink.“

„Yeah. Okay. Yeah.“

Quinn watched Fred drinking the cocktail which would turn him into a cramping mess who was going to shit his pants within the next two hours, Fara had placed everything he‘d asked her for in his apartment.

„And now tell me who’s your handler?“

„You’re out of your mind. Handler? I don’t have one.“

„Don’t try to fuck with me. The name.“

He clasped his hand over Fred‘s mouth to stifle any sound, his other thumb found the trigger point just beneath Fred‘s temple, it wouldn’t take more than 30 seconds of that hot wave of pain paralyzing the man‘s ability to move, think or talk.

Leaning downwards, Quinn whispered _“The name. Now. Or this will go on for a while. We have all night. Nobody will hear you.“_

He released Fred from his _treatment_ , just for a few seconds to give him time to _re-evaluate_ his situation.

„You’re a complete lunatic,“ Fred gasped with a strained voice.

„The name.“

Quinn brushed his thumb over the spot at Fred’s temple, in an almost tender gesture.

„I know many more of these points, you know. Krav Maga. The beauty in it is, it’s not pretending to be an art. Not made to calm your mind. It’s about killing and not getting killed. And some of those points - nobody will ever know. You got up in the middle of the night, disorientated, a wave of nausea, you fell - an accident, you see?“

He brushed his thumb once more over the man‘s sweaty skin, gradually adding more pressure and just before his hand came over Fred‘s mouth again he exhaled and whined _“fine“_.

„Dennis Boyd. And now go away.“

_Dennis Boyd. Fuck my life._

„I‘ll be back. Count on it.“

——————————

It was almost five a.m. when he drove up into the mountains, parked the car at the Highland Country Club near Sangada, bitterly amused by the thought of Khan probably coming up here for his weekend, maybe even with Carrie in tow. Max would hack the club‘s system and put the dentist on the members list and the car in the list of vehicles with permitted access. That wasn’t bulletproof but would probably grant him a day without anyone searching the area for a disappeared driver.

And they wouldn’t be able to search a 40 mile radius up here effectively. So Quinn shouldered his backpack and walked up hill, if he was right, it would take him about 15 hours to reach Haqqani‘s hideout in the mountains north of Khokar Maira.

Time to go.

——————————

At 5 a.m. Carrie came back to her apartment and stood by the window, watching the large embassy campus - never fully asleep - coming to life again.

The tunnel would remain open until tonight, it was guarded by ten armed marines now. Reinforcement was on its way. The men would enter the compound via the tunnel - they were hoping to keep their rearmament under wraps.

She‘d talked to Lockhart and to Martha, and the later conversation was still in Carrie‘s bones. Martha had taken the information of her husband’s betrayal with a silent grace - and a steely determination.

They’d decided to start the new day as any other day, with their usual morning briefing at 0800.

Should Dennis Boyd try to leave the campus he was going to face some unexpected problems with his identification card. Martha had handed the phone of her sleeping husband to Max, and then she’d placed the now bugged phone back on his nightstand.

There was nothing Carrie could do now to prepare the rise of a new day. Nothing which would keep her mind busy and prevent her from thinking about Saul and what she’d been willing to do.

Nothing which would stop her from thinking about Quinn.

And so she stood by the window, tears filling her eyes, and she didn’t even try to stop them from running down her cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday Karin! I hope you‘ll have a wonderful day! Love from Germany!
> 
> Your prompt for a fic made me think a lot - and I couldn’t put post S5 Quinn through a jealousy situation, because all I want him to have is some peace, and Carrie at his side. But I always wanted to go back to the sizzling tension in S4, and the possibilities an early kiss would have brought into the narrative. So Carrie obviously doesn’t hallucinate Brody here - and as I said, chapter 3 will hopefully be done in time for Christmas.
> 
> Thanks for a great prompt!


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